


Once, Twice.

by JetnessAffliction



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Canon Universe, Epilogue, Gen, M/M, Post Game, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 18:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11214111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JetnessAffliction/pseuds/JetnessAffliction
Summary: The sound couldn’t have been the door chime, since it hadn't been a series of metallic tones. The closest thing Akira could guess was the quiet brush of an aluminum spoon against sturdy, white ceramic, accidentally clashing as it stirred milk or sugar. A sound that was trying hard to be as unobtrusive as possible as it moved. Gentle. Polite.But it was after hours and there was no one else in LeBlanc.





	Once, Twice.

At first it was only a faint ringing out. The sound was definitely not the public phone at the end of the counter top or his own smartphone tucked into his apron pocket. It was a more delicate and subdued tone. A single chime, somewhere behind him, a clear high note that faded off. Akira turned abruptly, drying cloth held still on the counter, and carefully scanned the cafe.

 

It was empty.

 

It was quiet.

 

The sound couldn’t have been the door chime, since it hadn’t been a series of tiny metallic tones. The closest thing Akira could guess was the brush of an aluminum spoon against sturdy, white ceramic, accidentally clashing as it stirred milk or sugar. A sound that was trying hard to be as unobtrusive as possible as it moved. Gentle. Polite.

 

But it was after hours and there was no one else in LeBlanc.

 

“What’s wrong? Is there a customer coming back?” Morgana leapt from the table to the floor, carefully hiding himself behind Akira’s shoe before he could be spotted.

 

Akira blinked and scanned the seats and tables again. He stared longer at the end of the counter top toward the phone. All the chairs were empty. The sound didn’t return but his apprehension continued to build.

 

“No. Not really...”

 

\----------------------------------------

 

The next day Akira couldn’t pay attention during class, which was a real problem considering the amount he still had to pay out-of-pocket for University expenses he really couldn’t afford to take those classes for granted. Tokyo University was never going to be a free ride, so he went straight back to LeBlanc when lectures were over for the day, to Yongan-Jaya and Sojiro Sakura’s tucked away restaurant and a slightly above-minimum wage. It was good enough. It was stress-free work in a cozy space with lingering smells and familiar sounds.

 

He heard it again after closing, this time as he was wiping down the glass of the front door. There was no way a customer had still been in the cafe when he started cleaning, nor would one have been able to get past him.

 

But there it was, somewhere behind him, the sound of someone stirring. Akira held his breath. Maybe he just imagined it after all, maybe it had been the televi--

 

“You’re here rather late.”

 

Akira whipped around, heart pounding and eyes wide as he scanned the cafe.

 

Nothing.

 

No one.

 

“Morgana?” He called out, voice steady despite the hair sticking up on his arm, picking up a cold shift in air where his sleeves had been rolled up high. He watched in growing confusion as the black cat padded down the staircase.

 

“You called?” Morgana tilted his head at Akira, “Do you need help cleaning up?”

 

Akira scanned the cafe again, breathing in and out slowly to control his pulse. He rolled down his shirt sleeves.

 

In truth, he had a feeling this would happen some day. Hearing those words -hearing that voice again- he wasn’t sure how it would happen, but he was sure it would and he was sure he wanted it. He wanted it.

 

But like this?

 

Akira swallowed the knot of words in his throat and just shook his head.

 

Morgana couldn’t sense it. “If you keep spacing out, you’ll miss a spot. See! Right there in the corner!” He lifted a white-tipped paw and indicated the fingerprints Akira hadn’t quite gotten to yet. “The boss will scold you, you know.”

 

“Ah… yeah, I got it,” And Akira returned to the task at hand. He cleaned the glass. He dried the cooking equipment. He adjusted the books and magazines. He wiped down and carefully tucked in the high chairs under the counter top. He was extra careful handling the ones by the payphone.

 

He lingered on one in particular.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Akira was even more distracted the next day. It was raining, and the late summer air was humid and sticky, full of human complaints and sighs and restlessness. There were wet footprints everywhere on the cafe floor and Morgana avoided spreading the mess by napping upstairs on the windowsill.  

 

But humans have to work to eat, and as Akira mopped up around the entryway, he followed the smeared footprints from the door toward the center of the cafe, washing away the trace evidence of customers. Past the first chair. Then the second. He slowed down as he passed the third, and when he passed the fourth, the sound was unmistakable.

 

Metal against ceramic-- clashing, ringing.

 

Stirring.

 

Akira exhaled and stood up straight, mop handle held tight. All day, he had thought about what to do if this was what he really thought it was. In the end, only one choice seemed right.

 

“It’s been a while,” he said quietly, barely over a whisper, and turned around.

 

And there he was, as if he’d been there for hours. Goro Akechi was sitting at his usual seat. His winter coat was buttoned and prim and his metal briefcase leaned against the teak bar at his feet. The sandy-haired boy stopped stirring his coffee and gently returned the spoon to the saucer. Akira had a sense of all sound in the room draining to a sudden hush, converging into that faint tone one last time-- metal on ceramic. When Akechi looked up from his drink, he smiled at Akira, bright and easy.

 

Familiar.

 

The mop handle clattered to the tile floor, snapping Akira’s attention backward. By the time he turned to Akechi again it was just the empty chair and empty doorway and the rain beyond that.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

He didn’t sleep well that night. He could hear that ringing sound, faint and scratchy this time, metal sweeping against ceramic, purposefully rough, damaging the surface. But when he opened his eyes it was just the alarm from his phone and the rustle of garbage bags being set out in the street below his window. The room was colder than it normally was. His throat was dry and irritated and he was so, so, thirsty.

 

He skipped work that night. Sojiro was annoyed, but he used the excuse of a major exam and it was as easy as that.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

It took him a few more days to sort out what was happening. A day or two working in the cafe without incident. Despite the extraordinary events of his life just a handful of years ago, he couldn't easily accept that this was how they would reunite. Why in the cafe and not in their former hideout upstairs? Why sitting calmly and enjoying coffee and not lunging at him in rage? Is this how it normally goes? Akira thought absently as he got off at the Yongen-jaya station after a full day of lectures and his legs carried him to LeBlanc.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

“Don’t forget to clean the stove top this time” Sojiro reminded him and then the faint clatter of bells and the door shutting drowned him out. Akira could see a tired wave as his easygoing boss walked off into the night.

 

“You know….” Morgana whined, leaping to perch on the counter top now that the coast was clear, “you’ve been acting a bit strange lately.”

 

“Oh?” Akira wrung out the excess water from the dish cloth and started wiping down the surface. “It’s just school” he insisted.

 

“Really? You’re okay in class, it’s only here that seems off.” As if to make a point, Morgana rolled from one side to the other on the counter top, completely at peace with his feline form. And while he was busy languidly stretching and taking up as much space as possible, he almost rolled into the magazines by the phone.

 

“Hey cut that out,” akira shooed him away with the wet rag, much to Morgana’s alarmed meows and curses. “Go roll around upstairs”.

 

“You see!” Morgana shouted at him and the offending cloth but scurried away obediently, upstairs where he wouldn’t be harassed.

 

Akira hastily wiped away cat fur from the counter top and then stopped, gripping the damp cloth in one fist. He yanked off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. It had been such a good day until now. The uneasiness that had started days ago had been building to a head and even Morgana was sensing it. He squeezed his eyes shut.

 

He heard laughter.

 

It seemed natural this time, cheery and genuine. Nothing like the polite showmanship or exaggerated, forced chuckling for television. Just a quiet, almost accidental, laughter. This sound wasn’t familiar at all, but it wasn’t unwelcome, and when Akira lowered his hand, Akechi was sitting right in front of him.

 

“He’s changed a bit hasn’t he?” Akechi leaned on an elbow, chin resting against a thin black glove. He looked solid and real and not a hair was out of place. “That one,” he nodded toward the staircase where Morgana had escaped upstairs. “However, you haven’t changed much.” he smirked.

 

 _As if you’re one to talk…_ Akira almost said out loud. Almost. He got as far as opening his mouth and staring at Akechi’s smirk and then abruptly shut it, deciding instead to lean against the counter top from the other side and fall into a role that never happened, but easily could have. Possibly, should have.

 

“Something you want to say?” There was no sound this time when Akechi leaned back in his chair. No creaking wood or crunching upholstery. Even the air was still as they both moved in this shared space, carefully, trying their hardest not to break whatever spell this was.

 

Akira just shook his head and glanced along the counter. There was a set of two mugs and saucers drying, left out during the late end of the shift. By himself or by Sojiro, he couldn’t remember. There was a small batch of the daily blend left in the drip. There was Akechi at his usual seat. There was so much he wanted to say.

 

Akira set the cloth aside in the kitchen nook and washed up. He felt a brief moment of panic when his customer left peripheral view, but when he returned to the brewing station Akechi was still there, waiting.

 

“If it’s too much trouble then please don’t force yourself to speak out loud. I can hear you,” Akechi shifted in his seat, turning to better address his server and smile in a way that never reached his eyes, “even though I’m not really here...”

 

Akira’s hands moved on their own, grabbing the mugs one after the other and draining the last of the coffee into them. He sensed that this was one of those moments where he had to choose carefully, where an entire ethos linked to his own was being decided. If that were the case, it wouldn’t be enough to stay silent. Akechi only first reappeared days ago when he greeted him out loud, didn’t he? Speaking was part of the spell.

 

Akira placed each mug into it’s respective saucer and stood calmly, a steaming cup in each hand. “You are here, though.” He stepped around the counter and placed Akechi’s coffee down before setting down his own, then took a seat beside him. “Maybe not in that chair, but still….” he turned aside and stared into Akechi’s eyes evenly, “..here.”

 

“You’re too kind.” Is all Akechi had to say before breaking eye contact to nervously curl his gloved hands around the cup and saucer. Maybe it was some attempt to feel the warmth and steam coming from the unexpected gift. The corners of his lips were still held slightly high, eyes half lidded and sad as he examined the coffee on the countertop. “It looks delicious. I do miss it, actually.”

 

“Do you want me to make you some every night?” Akira slowly relaxed in his seat and leaned forward, hands wrapping gingerly around his own mug. “I could, if that’s what you want.” He finally picked up his mug and brought it to his lips, fighting the urge to glance beside him as he finished his words. They came out tense and hushed behind the delicate ceramic rim, almost a prayer. “...It’s the least I can do.”

 

Akechi watched quietly, content as his tablemate took the first sip. “What I want is for you to remember me, just like this” He sighed and relaxed in his chair, one elbow resting on the counter, the other hovering in his lap. He leisurely took in the quiet, empty cafe and the muted bustle of Yongan-jaya at night beyond the door. “Just like this...” When he smiled at Akira again, it was the same as it was a few days ago. Genuine and familiar. But he didn’t lift his own mug. “Regardless of everything else, I really did enjoy the coffee and my time here. Please, remember that.”

 

“Hmm.” Akira placed his cup down and stared at it. He stared until he could feel his eyes twitching, prickling, as if the steam rising from the dark liquid was wafting high into them. Akira had to blink rapidly to refocus, to register those words deep in his heart. “Alright.”

 

When he turned to say it again to Akechi’s face, he was alone.

 

There was just the untouched cup and saucer, the empty seat and the echo of a final request that was never spoken.

 

Akira sank back into his seat, momentarily stunned. Then he drank his coffee as slowly as he could. It was more bitter than he remembered but rich and nourishing and tinted with a salty end note that lingered on his tongue and down into his throat. It pooled deep in his chest, flooding out his unspoken words, drowning them.

 

When he was finished with his drink he cleaned up as usual. But just for this night, he left the untouched coffee on the counter in front of the third chair.

 

A familiar sight.

**Author's Note:**

> They say you die twice. Once, when your body dies. The second is much later on, real death, when the memory of you dies. 
> 
>  
> 
> I honestly just had to get this out of my system after my first play through. I hate this game (I love this game).


End file.
